Judgement Day
It happened at Staples.
It was the Staples on 6th Avenue and 23rd Street – right smack dab in the middle of Chelsea, one of the more homo populated areas of New York (if you can say that there are more homo populated areas of New York because it would appear that the gays have taken over). Nevertheless, since before we arrived in New York in the early 90s, Chelsea has been the home to many homos and to many homo attractions – bars, clubs, gay book shops, coffee shops, clothing stores, video stores and a cinema where, every Thursday, there are screenings of iconic Gay films like Mommie Dearest and Xanadu, where a drag queen leads the pack in general merriment and Rocky Horror Picture Show type screenings of the films that we gather to watch together. So imagine our surprise when we were assaulted for being gay in the Staples at the corner of 6th and 23rd in Chelsea.
We weren’t gay bashed. We were assaulted. We weren’t called faggots or sissies or cocksuckers. We were, simply, gently, lovingly assaulted. We were discriminated against for being two men walking down the street, holding hands.
In Chelsea.
Pat and I were leaving the gym on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. It was that kind of day that happens when summer has his fingers clinging to the bark of the last tree that has green leaves on it, while autumn is up in that tree pulling those leaves off and replacing them her brown and orange ones. We were still wearing shorts and tank tops but our hoodies and sweaters with neatly folded and tucked into our bags, lest we need them. We strolled up 6th avenue, pausing to look in the windows at Bed Bath and Beyond, The Container Store, The Vitamin Shoppe, the Dvd store where we buy dvds for three, five and seven dollars, before approaching the Staples, which was on our agenda, as we were all out of blank recordable dvds for all those gay movies I tape off of Turner Classic Movies (only last week I got some good Lana Turner, some really good Angela Lansbury and even a Janet Gaynor/John Barrymore movie). We were holding hands.
We always hold hands.
Chit chat. Chit chat. Laugh, giggle, gossip. Which ones do we want to buy? What can we afford? What’s on sale?
“Excuse me, guys.”
We turned.
A nice looking, smiling young man stood to our right. He was dressed politely in something white and something beige. He wore a helmet of some kind – I imagine it was a bicycle helmet. There was a large soft guitar case (filled with a guitar, one presumes) strapped to his back. We smiled back.
“Yes?”
“I saw you guys out on the street and followed you into the store.”
Well. I thought we were looking pretty good these days but this was an embarrassment of riches. To have a stranger follow us into the Staples to hit on us for a three-way was just the ego building compliment I needed as we approached sweater weather and I would have to put my body away until the spring thaw.
“Yes?”
“I’m a Roman Catholic. I don’t know if either of you are Roman Catholics either.”
Pat announced, on our behalf: “No religion. We don’t really have a religion.”
I wear a tiny gold cross around my neck. It is not because I am a Christian; because I’m not. I believe Jesus Christ lived. I believe he was a good, nay – even a great, man. I believe he was a good teacher. I believe he was a great philosopher. I believe he was a man. If you tell me that Jesus was the son of God I will tell you that I believe we are all the sons and daughters of God. I believe in Christian behaviour – be nice. Don’t be an asshole. Be a good guy or good girl, the way Jesus was; make Jesus proud. I always wave or blow Jesus a kiss when I pass by a church. I believe in Jesus the way I believe in any of my friends, any of my loved ones. So I wear a cross; because I believe in being Christ-like.
The man in the helmet did not see my cross on its’ delicate gold chain, hanging around my neck, nestled in that little hollow where the two sides of the clavicle meet in the middle of your collarbone area.
“Well, I just wanted to say, as a Roman Catholic, that I hope you’re celebrating brotherly love and not a romantic one, when you walk down the street holding hands.”
Pat spoke up.
“Actually, we’re married.” (Our wedding is planned for our 25th Anniversary in 2011 but we have, long, considered ourselves married… so does our God.)
“That’s not possible.”
“Well, actually…” Pat started.
He never got to finish.
He never got to finish because I said, with emphasis:
“Please turn around and walk away from us.”
The man did not do as I asked, even though I asked very politely and without raising my voice. Instead, he kept talking. I did not, though, hear what he was saying. Pat wasn’t saying anything because he knew, by my tone and my phrasing, that the only voice that would be heard until the situation was resolved, was the one issuing from my lips.
“PLEASE turn around and walk away from us.”
He kept talking, rather than moving.
“PLEASE. TURN AROUND. AND WALK AWAY FROM US.”
He was talking.
“I SAID. PLEASE. TURN AROUND AND WALK AWAY FROM US.”
He was gone. The other people in the store were looking our direction and wondering what was going on. Nobody was upset, though. Nobody was turning red, nobody was breathing heavily, nobody was agitated. He had assaulted us in a very benign way and we had dealt with the situation accordingly. We, then, went back to the task of choosing and purchasing our blank dvd – r’s.
Once outside and in the light and fresh air, though, we took hands and walked to the subway, laughing in incredulous wonder at the man’s horrible choice of locations to pick to proselytize regarding the unspeakable vice of the Greeks! Not only did he pick the wrong city but the definitely wrong neighbourhood to follow two men holding hands into a store off the street to discount the validity of their union! What crust! I mean, really, go back to Utah!
I said to Pat that I was sorry for what I had done because, in hindsight, I felt like we should have said “well he’s a mormon and I’m jehovah’s witness” and proceeded to French kiss and make out in front of him. Pat told me, at that point, that he actually was interested in hearing where he was heading with his sermon on the molehill. Shucks. I felt bad, then. I was sorry to have cost Pat his curiosity fulfillment. Water under the bridge, though.
I suppose we will spend the rest of our lives trying to keep people like that (and so many others) from judging us and from trying to turn us into second class citizens, all in the name of their narrow minded (or worse – CLOSED minded) beliefs based on any number of social conditioning, racial profiling and religious brainwashing. I just think it is a shame that people who are truly spiritual, people who have a grasp on (what I consider to be) TRUE Christianity, have to have their particular social grouping judged by the vehemence of these religious fanatics who feel that it is not alright for same sex couples to love one another but it is alright for them to take God’s job upon themselves, forgetting the advice “judge not, lest ye be judged”. What is (maybe) even worse is that, not only will we spend the rest of our lives trying to get out from under their petty, bigoted thumbs; we will spend the moments when we are not actively engaged in fighting, trying to understand WHY they hate us so. We homosexuals do nobody any harm. Not as a group. There are people in every social, political (and other) group who harm humans – but they are individuals. We as a group are not harmful. We live, we love, we breathe. We create art and we make money. We help the economy (please, gays with disposable incomes are among the few bringing the economy back up, simply by shopping and going on holiday), we champion the downtrodden and we teach others how to live healthier lives (what would YOU do with YOUR gay trainer?), prettier lives (you hairdresser, designer and gay best friend who won’t let you walk around with ridiculous facial hair?). SOME of us even help the world by becoming politically active or going to work as teachers. We’re just normal people (if you believe that normal is in the eye of the beholder) and yet we get far less love than people who are actually white supremacists or redneck serial killers. I don’t even want to begin naming the names of famous Catholic politicians known for numerous extra marital affairs, famous Catholic movie stars who can’t divorce their wives while living with their famous female movie star lovers, the famous high profile clergymen involved in sexual relationships with women, not to mention the not at all clergymen involved in sexual relationships with men, young men, teenage men, boys…
No. I don’t even want to begin thinking about that.
I think I’ll focus all my attentions on my beloved friends who are attending the March for Equality in Washington this weekend (heartbroken am I that Pat and I cannot go but we are both unemployed and cannot afford the travel, the lodging, even the food – but we are cheering from home and doing what we can to support equality in every way that our bank accounts will allow). I think I’ll focus all my attentions on my beloved friends like Jacque and James who are true Chrstians and who have taught their beautiful children these philosophies, which I can only assume came directly from Jesus Christ himself:
Love God. Love People.
Never make your light brighter by diminishing someone else’s.
Now THAT is what I call Christianity.
That is what I call Love.
Agape.
It was the Staples on 6th Avenue and 23rd Street – right smack dab in the middle of Chelsea, one of the more homo populated areas of New York (if you can say that there are more homo populated areas of New York because it would appear that the gays have taken over). Nevertheless, since before we arrived in New York in the early 90s, Chelsea has been the home to many homos and to many homo attractions – bars, clubs, gay book shops, coffee shops, clothing stores, video stores and a cinema where, every Thursday, there are screenings of iconic Gay films like Mommie Dearest and Xanadu, where a drag queen leads the pack in general merriment and Rocky Horror Picture Show type screenings of the films that we gather to watch together. So imagine our surprise when we were assaulted for being gay in the Staples at the corner of 6th and 23rd in Chelsea.
We weren’t gay bashed. We were assaulted. We weren’t called faggots or sissies or cocksuckers. We were, simply, gently, lovingly assaulted. We were discriminated against for being two men walking down the street, holding hands.
In Chelsea.
Pat and I were leaving the gym on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. It was that kind of day that happens when summer has his fingers clinging to the bark of the last tree that has green leaves on it, while autumn is up in that tree pulling those leaves off and replacing them her brown and orange ones. We were still wearing shorts and tank tops but our hoodies and sweaters with neatly folded and tucked into our bags, lest we need them. We strolled up 6th avenue, pausing to look in the windows at Bed Bath and Beyond, The Container Store, The Vitamin Shoppe, the Dvd store where we buy dvds for three, five and seven dollars, before approaching the Staples, which was on our agenda, as we were all out of blank recordable dvds for all those gay movies I tape off of Turner Classic Movies (only last week I got some good Lana Turner, some really good Angela Lansbury and even a Janet Gaynor/John Barrymore movie). We were holding hands.
We always hold hands.
Chit chat. Chit chat. Laugh, giggle, gossip. Which ones do we want to buy? What can we afford? What’s on sale?
“Excuse me, guys.”
We turned.
A nice looking, smiling young man stood to our right. He was dressed politely in something white and something beige. He wore a helmet of some kind – I imagine it was a bicycle helmet. There was a large soft guitar case (filled with a guitar, one presumes) strapped to his back. We smiled back.
“Yes?”
“I saw you guys out on the street and followed you into the store.”
Well. I thought we were looking pretty good these days but this was an embarrassment of riches. To have a stranger follow us into the Staples to hit on us for a three-way was just the ego building compliment I needed as we approached sweater weather and I would have to put my body away until the spring thaw.
“Yes?”
“I’m a Roman Catholic. I don’t know if either of you are Roman Catholics either.”
Pat announced, on our behalf: “No religion. We don’t really have a religion.”
I wear a tiny gold cross around my neck. It is not because I am a Christian; because I’m not. I believe Jesus Christ lived. I believe he was a good, nay – even a great, man. I believe he was a good teacher. I believe he was a great philosopher. I believe he was a man. If you tell me that Jesus was the son of God I will tell you that I believe we are all the sons and daughters of God. I believe in Christian behaviour – be nice. Don’t be an asshole. Be a good guy or good girl, the way Jesus was; make Jesus proud. I always wave or blow Jesus a kiss when I pass by a church. I believe in Jesus the way I believe in any of my friends, any of my loved ones. So I wear a cross; because I believe in being Christ-like.
The man in the helmet did not see my cross on its’ delicate gold chain, hanging around my neck, nestled in that little hollow where the two sides of the clavicle meet in the middle of your collarbone area.
“Well, I just wanted to say, as a Roman Catholic, that I hope you’re celebrating brotherly love and not a romantic one, when you walk down the street holding hands.”
Pat spoke up.
“Actually, we’re married.” (Our wedding is planned for our 25th Anniversary in 2011 but we have, long, considered ourselves married… so does our God.)
“That’s not possible.”
“Well, actually…” Pat started.
He never got to finish.
He never got to finish because I said, with emphasis:
“Please turn around and walk away from us.”
The man did not do as I asked, even though I asked very politely and without raising my voice. Instead, he kept talking. I did not, though, hear what he was saying. Pat wasn’t saying anything because he knew, by my tone and my phrasing, that the only voice that would be heard until the situation was resolved, was the one issuing from my lips.
“PLEASE turn around and walk away from us.”
He kept talking, rather than moving.
“PLEASE. TURN AROUND. AND WALK AWAY FROM US.”
He was talking.
“I SAID. PLEASE. TURN AROUND AND WALK AWAY FROM US.”
He was gone. The other people in the store were looking our direction and wondering what was going on. Nobody was upset, though. Nobody was turning red, nobody was breathing heavily, nobody was agitated. He had assaulted us in a very benign way and we had dealt with the situation accordingly. We, then, went back to the task of choosing and purchasing our blank dvd – r’s.
Once outside and in the light and fresh air, though, we took hands and walked to the subway, laughing in incredulous wonder at the man’s horrible choice of locations to pick to proselytize regarding the unspeakable vice of the Greeks! Not only did he pick the wrong city but the definitely wrong neighbourhood to follow two men holding hands into a store off the street to discount the validity of their union! What crust! I mean, really, go back to Utah!
I said to Pat that I was sorry for what I had done because, in hindsight, I felt like we should have said “well he’s a mormon and I’m jehovah’s witness” and proceeded to French kiss and make out in front of him. Pat told me, at that point, that he actually was interested in hearing where he was heading with his sermon on the molehill. Shucks. I felt bad, then. I was sorry to have cost Pat his curiosity fulfillment. Water under the bridge, though.
I suppose we will spend the rest of our lives trying to keep people like that (and so many others) from judging us and from trying to turn us into second class citizens, all in the name of their narrow minded (or worse – CLOSED minded) beliefs based on any number of social conditioning, racial profiling and religious brainwashing. I just think it is a shame that people who are truly spiritual, people who have a grasp on (what I consider to be) TRUE Christianity, have to have their particular social grouping judged by the vehemence of these religious fanatics who feel that it is not alright for same sex couples to love one another but it is alright for them to take God’s job upon themselves, forgetting the advice “judge not, lest ye be judged”. What is (maybe) even worse is that, not only will we spend the rest of our lives trying to get out from under their petty, bigoted thumbs; we will spend the moments when we are not actively engaged in fighting, trying to understand WHY they hate us so. We homosexuals do nobody any harm. Not as a group. There are people in every social, political (and other) group who harm humans – but they are individuals. We as a group are not harmful. We live, we love, we breathe. We create art and we make money. We help the economy (please, gays with disposable incomes are among the few bringing the economy back up, simply by shopping and going on holiday), we champion the downtrodden and we teach others how to live healthier lives (what would YOU do with YOUR gay trainer?), prettier lives (you hairdresser, designer and gay best friend who won’t let you walk around with ridiculous facial hair?). SOME of us even help the world by becoming politically active or going to work as teachers. We’re just normal people (if you believe that normal is in the eye of the beholder) and yet we get far less love than people who are actually white supremacists or redneck serial killers. I don’t even want to begin naming the names of famous Catholic politicians known for numerous extra marital affairs, famous Catholic movie stars who can’t divorce their wives while living with their famous female movie star lovers, the famous high profile clergymen involved in sexual relationships with women, not to mention the not at all clergymen involved in sexual relationships with men, young men, teenage men, boys…
No. I don’t even want to begin thinking about that.
I think I’ll focus all my attentions on my beloved friends who are attending the March for Equality in Washington this weekend (heartbroken am I that Pat and I cannot go but we are both unemployed and cannot afford the travel, the lodging, even the food – but we are cheering from home and doing what we can to support equality in every way that our bank accounts will allow). I think I’ll focus all my attentions on my beloved friends like Jacque and James who are true Chrstians and who have taught their beautiful children these philosophies, which I can only assume came directly from Jesus Christ himself:
Love God. Love People.
Never make your light brighter by diminishing someone else’s.
Now THAT is what I call Christianity.
That is what I call Love.
Agape.
posted by StephenMosher at 10:06 AM
2 Comments:
I'm assuming he's a closet case. Good for you that you maintained your composure and stood him down.
Thank you for living out and proud lives. We are children of God. It is unfortunate that some people are so blinded by fear that they cannot appreciate true love and beauty.
Post a Comment
<< Home